


The Dogs of War Raid

by dracsmith



Category: The Rat Patrol
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Episode Reference - The Exhibit A Raid, Episode reference - The Hickory Dickory Dock Raid, Gen, Mind Manipulation, Troy!Whump, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-26
Updated: 2019-09-26
Packaged: 2020-10-28 11:29:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20777837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dracsmith/pseuds/dracsmith
Summary: A Nazi scientist has a new invention he wants to try out on a captured Rat.





	The Dogs of War Raid

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published in UNDER THE SUN #1, May 1999.

_Cry havoc_: "An old military command to massacre without quarter."  
_Brewer's Dictionary of Phrase and Fable_, 14th Edition.

Sergeant Sam Troy of the Rat Patrol watched through binoculars as the cargo plane came in to land on the hastily-constructed runway. Almost as soon as the plane had taxied to a stop, the door to the rear compartment opened and a man emerged. Troy eyed him carefully, then handed the binoculars to Sergeant Jack Moffitt, who took a long look and gave them back with a curt nod.

"That's the man in the photo all right," said Moffitt. "Wilhelm Mueller, psychoneurological researcher." He gestured toward the plane, where a group of soldiers were carefully unloading a series of heavy bundles wrapped in gray fabric. "And that must be his famous machine."

"It's almost too easy," mused Troy. "Everything from the location of the testing site to the identity of the scientist, practically handed to us on a platter."

Moffitt shrugged. "I was suspicious beforehand at the information, especially since HQ said it came from a double agent. But now that it's been confirmed--"

"Plenty could still go wrong," interrupted Troy. He scanned the site with the binoculars again and let out a curse. "There's our first piece of bad luck. Dietrich's down there. Looks like he's in charge of security."

"That is bad luck," Moffitt agreed. "It means that our target will be competently guarded." 

"But it doesn't change our mission," Troy said. "Just makes it harder. Destroy the machine and either kill Mueller or take him captive."

Moffitt nodded. "What's the plan, Troy?"

"We'll attack at dawn tomorrow. Let's get back to the others, and I'll go over it to you all in detail." They returned to the encampment nearby where they had left Hitch and Tully.  


* * *

  
Troy had scheduled himself for second watch. By the time Tully came to wake him, it was a crystal-clear night edged with frosty cold. Troy climbed regretfully out of his warm bedroll and went to take his station. He was fully alert and on guard for intruders, but the odd-smelling gas that suddenly crept up on him took him completely by surprise. So quiet was his fall to the ground, and so exhausted were his sleeping companions, that it was not until morning that they realized he was gone.  


* * *

  
As Troy awoke, he gradually became aware of voices speaking in German-accented English. "I am very pleased with the success of this plan," said an unfamiliar voice. "As our intelligence predicted, the Allies sent the Rat Patrol to investigate the information that we planted. The capture of one of these Rats affords me an excellent opportunity to test the machine on a resistant subject under field conditions. Your comprehensive dossiers give me a great deal to work with." The speaker's voice was flat and nasal, with a tinny, unpleasant quality. That must be Mueller, Troy realized. 

The next voice was Dietrich's. "I'm glad that you find them helpful, Herr Doktor." He didn't really sound all that glad, thought Troy.

Troy was gradually becoming more aware of his surroundings. He opened his eyes and, finding his vision unimpaired, looked around as best he could. He found himself strapped down on a medical gurney in a smallish room with a door at each end. Dietrich and Mueller were just out of his range of vision. Most of the room was taken up with large components of what Intelligence had simply called "the machine," some kind of psychoneurological device whose precise function was unknown. There were some components that looked like tall metal cabinets with tape reels at the top, and others that looked more like instrument panels. Not far from Troy was a device that looked like a kind of projector. 

"Ah, I see that Sergeant Troy has decided to join us again." That was Dietrich's voice again. "Now, I suppose, you are going to show me just what this machine is supposed to do."

"You don't sound as if you have a lot of confidence in my project, Herr Hauptmann," said the scientist. 

"My confidence or lack thereof is not at issue," said Dietrich. Troy smiled to himself; he had heard that impatient tone before. Dietrich obviously disliked the scientist and his project. "I have been ordered to put my resources at your disposal and I have done so."

"I assure you," said Mueller with confidence, "you will feel differently very soon."

Troy strained against his bonds, trying to see what Mueller was doing. The scientist stood just out of Troy's range of vision; he could just see a white-sleeved arm and hand jabbing at the controls of the machine. Troy realized that even if he could see Mueller, he wouldn't be able to tell what the man was doing, but he still found it frustrating to hear the clicks and whirrs and not be able to see what was going on.

"You know, Sergeant Troy," said Mueller conversationally, "the Scottish philosopher David Hume argued that our memories and imaginations cannot possibly reproduce our sensory experiences with all their original force and vigor." He came over to Troy's side and smiled down at him. He was a tall, thin man, balding, and wearing thick horn-rimmed glasses. "You are going to help me prove him wrong."

Troy wanted to keep the man talking as long as possible. "How am I going to do that, Dr. Mueller?" he asked. "I'm not a philosopher."

"So few of us are, Sergeant," said Mueller with gentle regret. "But I can disprove him by offering into evidence a man whose memory and imagination can indeed generate a sensory experience as vivid and forceful as the original. And you will be that man." He moved back out of Troy's line of sight and flipped a switch. The projector began to glow.

There was a faint buzzing in Troy's head, but otherwise he felt no different. Then Mueller spoke. "Remember, Sergeant Troy. Remember Colonel Beckmann."

Troy found himself unable to resist the suggestion. He couldn't tell whether his failure to resist was a result of Mueller's machine, or simple human nature, but his mind began, as it had done during so many nightmares, to replay those unspeakable days in the POW camp.

But something was different. Over the last few years, whether he was remembering it or dreaming it or trying to drink it away, the memory had always been just a little fainter each time. 

But now, as Troy remembered receiving the first blow to his stomach that had doubled him over, he felt the pain all over again, both the initial impact and the resulting ache. As he remembered his hands being bound, the thin straps being pulled cruelly tight, he squeezed his eyes open and saw red marks beginning to form around his wrists. 

He heard Mueller's voice muttering in dissatisfaction, then he was plunged full force into the memory. The laboratory disappeared and Mueller's voice faded away. Troy was in Beckmann's tent in the camp, and the only difference was that this time he knew exactly what was going to happen.  


* * *

  
Moffitt awoke as soon as dawn began to break. _Why didn't Troy wake me for third watch?_ he wondered. Looking around, he saw that Tully and Hitch were still asleep. He got up and went out to where Troy should have been stationed last night. There was no sign of him. He looked closely at the ground and saw the marks of something heavy, like a man's body, being dragged away from the position where Troy had stood. At least there was no blood. Moffitt stood for a moment, mulling a variety of unpleasant possibilities, and then went to wake the others.  


* * *

  
Troy's original attack plan had required all four men and both jeeps; it would have to be altered. Moffitt formulated a new plan with the help of Hitch and Tully. Leaving Tully on an overlooking ridge, Moffitt and Hitch went down to infiltrate the camp. A few quiet deaths later, they found themselves just outside the prefabricated building that housed Mueller's machine.

Moffitt peered inside, seeing Troy and the machine. "There's the machine, and there's Troy." He turned back to his young comrade. "Hitch, I don't see any sign of the scientist. Scout around some of the outbuildings and see if you find him."

Hitch nodded and slipped away. Moffitt went into the building. He scanned the room quickly and moved over to Troy.

The American sergeant was unconscious, strapped to a gurney. Moffitt looked carefully at him, noticing the bruises from a pistol-whipping, the tiny burns left by electrodes, and the abraded skin where Troy had struggled against his bonds. And those were only the most obvious injuries; he guessed there was internal damage as well. Moffitt shook his head. "What on earth happened to you, Troy?" he wondered aloud. "Dietrich wouldn't have done this."

"Thank you for the vote of confidence, Sergeant," said a voice from across the room. Moffitt looked up to see Dietrich and a guard coming in from the far door. "You're quite right. This isn't _my_ handiwork." He glared at another man who entered just behind him, a thin, balding man with glasses wearing civilian clothes and a lab coat. Dietrich gestured casually with the Luger in his hand; Moffitt set his weapon down on the floor. The guard moved over behind him and picked it up.

"Then whose handiwork is it?" Moffitt asked. He looked at the scientist. "Did _you_ do this?"

"No, my friend," the scientist said in a silky, serene voice. "Colonel Beckmann did."

"That's impossible," said Moffitt. "Beckmann is in an Allied high-security prison camp. But . . ." He thought hard. After Beckmann had been captured and tried, Troy had suffered recurring nightmares about his treatment at the evil colonel's hands. Moffitt had finally dragged him into town, gotten him thoroughly drunk, and coaxed the whole story from him. This had seemed to help Troy work through the memories, though Moffitt's own dreams had been dicey for a while. 

Moffitt bent over Troy and examined him again, remembering Troy's hesitant, stammering description. He looked back up at Mueller with wary curiosity. "These _are_ the same wounds that Beckmann inflicted."

"Allow me to introduce myself," said the man in the lab coat. "I am Doctor Mueller, inventor of the psychoneurological enhancement machine you see before you." He patted the nearest component of the contraption fondly. "I instructed it to help your friend remember his experiences with the good colonel, and his own mind did the rest."

"Fascinating," said Moffitt. "I must confess, doctor, I find myself skeptical."

"I anticipated that," said the doctor. Abruptly he swung the projector around so that it pointed at Moffitt. "Remember your brother," he said sharply and flipped a switch.

The machine hummed. A wave of grief and anger swept over Moffitt; his knees buckled as he found himself reliving the raw, sick misery he felt when he read the telegram from his mother. His fists clenched. "Why, you . . . " Suddenly he plunged forward. There was only one thing in his mind: revenge. The Germans across the room would do for a start.

The guard behind him seized Moffitt and yanked him back. Dr. Mueller smiled and turned the machine off. The cloud of irrational hatred receded, eventually leaving Moffitt's mind clear. He stopped struggling, and the guard let him go. "That machine, the memories . . . took over. I couldn't think straight. I wanted to kill--"  
A thought struck him. He addressed Mueller, but kept an eye on Dietrich. "That's what this is really for, isn't it, Herr Doktor?" he said. "You don't need it as a torture device. You have plenty of fellows ready and eager to get their hands dirty doing the real thing--and this only works if the victim has been tortured before. Which isn't always the case. 

"But everyone's been angry sometime. What you did just now was very effective. I wanted to kill every German in this room. And that was just a short burst. It takes longer to wear off when you use it longer, doesn't it?

"You might use this on the enemy to incite them to rash action, I suppose," Moffitt went on, thinking aloud. "They would run right into your weapons, the way I almost did. But if you were going to use it against entrenched enemy positions at a distance, you wouldn't have had to capture Troy and tie him up so close to the machine."

Another thought struck Moffitt, and he paused, full of horror. "So that isn't the real purpose either. You designed this to use on your own men, didn't you?" Mueller did not answer. Dietrich was staring at the machine, apparently listening closely to Moffitt. 

Moffitt went on. "You could remind them of some time when they've really been angry, like you did to me just now. You could create an army of berserkers, constantly keyed up to such a pitch of hatred and violence that they would mow down anything that got in their way, without regard for consequences or conscience." He looked back down at Troy, then up at Mueller and Dietrich. "'Cry havoc, and let slip the dogs of war!'"

Mueller stared back at Moffitt calmly. "Are you quite finished, Sergeant?" Moffitt remained silent. Mueller continued, "Your indignation is quite amusing, coming from a spy, a man whose job is to use all the dirty tricks at his command to ensure that the war is won. For that is our job, isn't it? The job of each side. Not to win fairly, but simply to win."

"Not to win at any cost," Moffitt argued. "There are limits. It does no good to defeat an enemy by destroying one's own people. If what I experienced was a representative sample, this machine reduces its victims to mere channels of raw emotion. If you use this, you are treating your men like animals, or worse."

The three men regarded each other in silence. The stillness was broken by a soft moan from Troy. Moffitt, who had been looking and sounding more and more like a university don, snapped immediately back into a less formal mode of behavior. Laying his hand on an uninjured spot on Troy's arm, he leaned over him and spoke his name.

Troy groaned and opened his eyes, seeming to recognize Moffitt. "What are you doing here?" he whispered hoarsely. "Beckmann'll catch you."

"Beckmann's gone, Troy," said Moffitt gently. "The Allies have taken him away."

Troy's eyes closed again. "Then it's over."

Moffitt patted his shoulder, but did not speak. Troy was so disoriented that an explanation now wouldn't do any good; moreover, he seemed to be drifting back into unconsciousness, his only available refuge from pain. Moffitt wondered whether Troy's injuries were actually endangering his life; he had survived them once, but Moffitt didn't know how soon Troy had received treatment. 

A sensation of being watched made Moffitt look up. Mueller was occupied with looking at a readout on one of the machine's panels; after a moment Moffitt realized it was Dietrich who had caught him in an unguarded moment. Their eyes met; Dietrich, clearly uncomfortable, scowled and looked away.

"Hauptmann Dietrich," said Moffitt suddenly, regaining the German's attention. He flung his next words like a curse, in the guttural Arabic spoken by the local tribes. He knew Dietrich spoke it; he hoped Mueller didn't. "_If you can get this man to cure Troy, we will smash the machine for you._"

Mueller looked up, puzzled. "What did he say?"

"Something very rude having to do with my mother and a camel," said Dietrich. "I believe the proper response involves his father and a she-goat." Mueller chuckled and went back to studying the readouts. 

Dietrich exchanged a glance with Moffitt. "Doctor Mueller," Dietrich said, "I am curious. Are the effects of the machine reversible?"

"Of course," the scientist said dismissively. 

"I would like to see evidence of that fact. Especially if you are planning to use it on my men." His voice lost its smooth edge and took on a hint of anger. "If I'm going to wind up subjecting them to this contraption, I want to be damned sure that it works."

The scientist was stung. "It doesn't just work," he snapped. "It comes close to performing miracles."

Dietrich's tone became milder. "You must understand, I'm responsible for the well-being of the troops under my command. I'm very impressed with what I've seen so far. I'd like to see more."

Mueller was mollified. "All right," he agreed. It was obvious that he enjoyed showing off what his machine could do. "Sergeant Moffitt didn't get a large enough dose to need undoing; it's probably worn off by now. But I can show you quite a dramatic reversal for Sergeant Troy."

Troy felt as if he had been wandering in a nightmare forever. The buzzing in his head began again, and he felt that he just couldn't bear it any more. Except . . . it felt different this time. A kind of tingling moved through his body, and where it passed, it left behind a sensation of well-being. The agony was fading rapidly away, leaving behind exhaustion, but no pain. He opened his eyes and saw Moffitt standing beside him. 

"You see, Hauptmann Dietrich, a miraculous recovery," said Mueller triumphantly.

"Very impressive," Dietrich agreed.

He was about to say more when the door slammed open. "One move and he dies," said Hitchcock, standing in the doorway and training his machine gun on Mueller. The guard jumped, startled; Moffitt took advantage of the moment and disarmed him. 

Slinging the guard's weapon over his shoulder, Moffitt began unbuckling the straps that held Troy to the gurney. "Over there," Hitch said, motioning the guard to go and stand by the other Germans. The guard obeyed. "Captain Dietrich, throw down your weapon," Hitch said, moving carefully over to Troy and Moffitt.

Dietrich shook his head. His Luger was pointed squarely at Troy. "Gentlemen," he said, "I believe we have here what is known as a Mexican standoff."

"You'd better get Mueller out of here, Dietrich," said Moffitt. "You've only got three of us. The fourth has two things you don't know about."

"Perhaps you should enlighten me, Sergeant."

"Be happy to. He's got a bazooka trained on this building, and a deadline." Moffitt looked at his watch. "You've got two minutes to get clear, Captain." He pointed to the exit nearest the German encampment. "You take that exit, and we'll take the other."

"You are still my prisoners."

"You can shoot it out with us or you can save Mueller," said Moffitt. "You can't do both." 

Dietrich regarded him closely for a moment, then nodded. "Until next time, Sergeant," he said.

"Till next time," Moffitt agreed.  


* * *

  
Moffitt, Troy, and Hitch rejoined Tully on the ridge overlooking the camp. The Germans were busy putting out the fire that had obliterated the building that housed the machine and threatened to spread to the other tents. "We need to leave now," said Troy. "They know where we are, and it won't be long before they come after us."

"You're in no shape to travel, Troy," protested Moffitt.

"I'm fine, _Doctor_," said Troy, smiling to soften his sarcastic use of Moffitt's title. "Just tired. I can rest in the jeep."

"With Hitch driving? Not bloody likely," said Moffitt, laughing. "But you're right, of course. We need to leave."

"But Sarge," said Hitch, "we didn't get Mueller."

"We got the machine. It took him years to build this one, and it will take him years to build another one, if he can ever convince anyone to fund him again," said Troy. "We were up against Dietrich back there. We were lucky to do as well as we did and get out with our skins."

"I'll take that any day," agreed Tully. 

Troy nodded. "Let's roll."


End file.
